


i like boys the way boys like girls

by bitterfanfiction



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Brief suicidal thoughts, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, One Shot, Reddie, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, he does say the f-slur doe, it do be your own internalized homophobia sometimes, pennywise doesn't exist rn okay?, these bitches gay good for them good for them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:35:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25344049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bitterfanfiction/pseuds/bitterfanfiction
Summary: After Richie experiences his outing at the arcade, he struggles with that concept: being gay. Luckily (and to his surprise), he has a friend who loves him unconditionally, and he'd soon realize that it's okay that he likes boys the way boys like girls.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 6
Kudos: 56





	i like boys the way boys like girls

" _Get the fuck out of here, faggot_!” Henry’s eyes were aflame with hatred, a fire Richie had seen from him many times before. But this time it was different because this hatred was for something deeper.

His brain went over possible jokes or comments that could alleviate this pressure sitting on his chest, but Richie, for once, had no words. He found his throat moving, as if words were going to come up, as if they were going to protect him, but his defense died as they reached his tongue. He was Silent.

“Fucking _move_!” Henry spat after Richie had stood there for a few moments, mouth agape and eyes wide.

Richie tried to walk away, but his legs were locked in place, and trembling terribly. He found the strength, mustered in raw fear, and took an unsteady step back. The arcade was full of tension. He could feel eyes boring into him from every angle as he turned his back. He, for a second, looked at the blonde boy he’d been playing streetracer with. Conner. A lump was climbing into an uncomfortable point in his throat.

He broke, and began to run. Tears flew from his eyes in swift droplets. His mind swam with self-hatred. All that he held back, all that he tried to keep away, was surfacing with such force Richie wasn’t sure how he was not dead in this moment.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck— this is not good, they fucking know everyone in that damn arcade knows what I am, fuck, shit, I am fucking disgusting, dirty, dirty, dirty— he’ll tell everyone, everyone will know and they will hate me FUCK—_

He made it to the clearing with benches and that ominous Paul Bunyan statue he hated so fucking much. His shoes skidded into the ground, throwing up dirt. He wiped his eyes with a shaky sleeve, but new tears quickly craved where the old ones were wiped away. Sitting there, knees trembling against each other, he struggled with a broken series of deep and swift breaths. The tears were still falling after minutes that felt like hours, and he wondered if they’d ever stop. He felt like he might be sick. He heaved, once, and collapsed back onto the bench, ripping his glasses off to clean the tears painting them.

Richie hated that fucking word.

_Faggot._

He hated that about himself more than any other of his questionable traits. Traits such as his inability to read situations and his habit of saying inappropriate things at bad times (he remembers being beaten by Henry for running his mouth once, and found himself sickly grateful he remained mute just a few minutes before).

Richie hid all of his pain with cheeky smiles, dirty jokes, and an ever-flapping mouth. But that's the thing— it was all an act. Richie was an actor on a stage, playing the straight, funny main character, with an audience to laugh at his quips and a girlfriend by his side. He felt isolated and alone in this journey he didn’t even want to go on. This fun little movie, staring the one and only Richie Tozier— “Trashmouth, the Faggot-Freak!”

He wondered, for a moment, if being dead would be easier than living this lifestyle. His parents wouldn’t have a faggot for a son. His hometown wouldn’t be “full of little fairies”. That boy at the arcade with the blonde hair and soft blue eyes wouldn’t be preyed on by the dirty homosexual Richie was. But he shook that off, rather slowly, however. No, he didn’t want to die, not really. He just didn’t want to live this life he’d have to. He didn’t want to be... what he was.

But the losers… Richie’s heart nearly stopped when he thought of his friends finding out his shameful secret. When he thought of them, and the love they all shared for each other, he found it unfathomable that they would keep loving him if they knew. And then he thought of the quarry. Sometimes when they went down there, Richie found himself staying under the water longer than the others. Because down in that cloudy water Richie didn’t have to think of what he was, but about the green fog for miles in front of him.

But eventually he’d come up, gasping for air, and his eyes immediately would find Eddie.

Richie sniffed, and his wet eyes closed for a moment. He thought of Eddie. Eddie, who could always tell when Richie started to feel anxiety or get down, and without any conversation, did what he could to alleviate that feeling. This came in the form of distractions, a nudge, a comment, a few words. Anything to take Richie out of the moment. Eddie just knew, and Richie always noticed. He longed for that right now, that gentle reminder from Eddie that he would be okay.

And Richie got up, and began walking. Everything always leads back to one person. The tears had stopped. Now in replacement was a hollow, broken feeling deep in his chest. From somewhere in his head he had the troubling thought of— _What if it was broken forever_? He watched his shoes for stability, laces always tied but a little loose, one shoe in front of the other. Left foot, right foot, left, right, left, right—

He was in front of Eddie’s house. And he was going to tell him. He was going to admit it to him first, because no doubt everyone in this small town will know by the next day. If not tomorrow, definitely before school starts. He’ll be Derry’s middle school fairy. But he wanted— he needed to tell Eddie in his own words. He needed to, or else he’d hear it from someone who just wouldn’t say it right, and then Eddie would hate him even more. From a far corner in Richie’s psyche, he knew Eddie was incapable of hating him, but he was blinded by his own self-loathing and insecurities. He tried to latch onto that for motivation as he knocked on the door.

“Eddie! Get the door for me, sweetie!” He heard Mrs. K, muffled, and no doubt from her couch where she spent a majority of her life. Richie really didn’t like Mrs. K, surprisingly.

“Okay, mommy!” He heard Eddie, and began to feel sick again. Richie’s hand flew to his mouth, as if to catch vomit that may come up.

Richie couldn’t stop himself from breathing harder as the door opened inch-by-inch. _I can’t fucking do this, I cant, I fucking can’t—_

“Richie?” Eddie said softly, and hearing his voice did wonders to Richie’s panicked state.

“I have to tell you something, Eds.” Richie breathed, unable to actually look at him. Because if he saw Eddie, his soft eyes, it was real. He was really going to do this.

Eddie was silent for a moment. Richie still didn’t look up. He had half a mind to turn around right there and call this whole coming out ( _is that what you call it?_ ) process off. Then he saw Eddie’s arm as it grabbed Richie’s own.

“Okay, Rich, come inside.”

Richie slipped past Eddie inside, brushing against him lightly and ignoring the static in his heart as he did so. He raised his hand shortly to greet Mrs. K, who was melted into her couch and shooting daggers. He doesn’t think Mrs. K likes him either.

When they’re in Eddie’s room, Richie finds himself unable to speak once again. Eddie was looking at him patiently, kindly, and Richie felt a tad better at that. He laughed, curtly, because it’s kind of funny how quiet it is, and, this being the only sound Richie’s made in awhile, Eddie reacted.

“What’s going on, Rich?” Richie finally looks up, eyes full of purpose Eddie doesn’t understand yet, but will. His throat is closing in again, but he forces words up. “Henry—” is all he says, before tears begin to gush from his eyes. Eddie stands immediately, and goes to hold Richie, but Richie shakily pushes him away, and forces the tears to die down.

“Please, Richie, you’re scaring me.”

And Richie was Silent again. He didn’t want to scare Eddie, but he didn’t want to upset him either. But both these things were inevitable, so he sits up on Eddie’s bed, and finds his voice.

“Henry found something out, Eds.” He croaks, and feels his desire to shut down, but fights through it. He can’t put it off anymore. “He found something out about me, and he’s gonna tell everyone.”

Eddie nods, and takes a seat by Richie. “Okay.”

Richie sighs, and shakes his head, “ _I_ have to tell you now, because if anyone else does they’ll fuck it up, and I need, I _really_ need,” tears threatened his eyes again, “I need you to hear it from me.”

Richie met eyes with Eddie, and he saw how worried Eddie was. Richie was never so quiet, so sad, or _weird_. Richie wonders if Eddie has any idea what he’s about to say, if maybe he knew already, and he could stop this and save Richie from this crippling anxiety. But he knows Eddie doesn’t know, things would be very different if he did. And soon he will know and it will all be different— worse.

“Eds,” He begins, voice wavering in an odd way, and for a second he realized Eddie had not once corrected his nickname. “What I’m trying to tell you is I’m not who I seem to be, okay?”

That scares Eddie even more.

“I’m like,” Richie searches for what to say, dancing around a word he desperately doesn’t want to speak into existence, “an actor. I’ve been putting on this act for you, for the losers, for a long time. I don’t know, a year or so, m-maybe?” He’s not making any sense to Eddie, and it’s showing on his face, eyebrows knit together in confusion. Richie’s been known to ramble.

“Richie, you don’t have to act in front of me, really, you can tell me.” Eddie said quietly.

Richie stopped. With this permission, Richie gathered the forbidden sentence on his tongue, and said, eyes closed,

“I like boys the way boys like girls.”

Richie’s heart was rattling in his ribcage, so loud he was sure Eddie could hear it, too. When Richie got the courage to open his eyes to look at Eddie, his facial expression was unreadable.

“Oh.” Eddie said softly, and nodded slowly.

Richie felt bile rising in his throat. “Yeah, uh, the way you, Bill, Ben, Mike and Stan like girls is how I am with boys, I-I guess.”

An outcast. That stung.

“Oh.”

Self-hated boiled inside Richie. “I’m sorry,” He choked out, and tears finally spilled without any intention of stopping, it was done, there was no more pretending, “I’m disgusting, I’m a dirty fucking _faggot_ ,” the word sliced up his throat, and he saw Eddie flinch, “and you probably hate me, fuck, Eds, _I_ hate me—”

“Don’t say that!” Eds cried, and Richie saw tears glazing over in his eyes as well. “Don’t call yourself that!”

Richie blinked once, and two new trails formed down his cheeks. “Call myself a—?”

“You’re not!” Eddie stopped him, voice firm.

“Eddie,” Richie whimpered, desperate, “I am, that’s what I’m telling you!”

“You’re not.” Eddie repeated. “You’re not dirty, you’re not disgusting, you’re Richie Tozier, and you’re my best friend. And don’t you fucking dare talk about my best friend like that.”

Richie blinked again, but no tears fell. Eddie didn’t hate him. He wasn’t scowling and forcing Richie out of his house. He wasn’t disgusted. Confused, maybe. He had no idea what to say to that. Luckily, Eddie continued.

“Look, if Henry knows this somehow and tells people, we can stand up to them together.” Eddie lightly placed his hands onto Richies shaking palm. “He’s an asshole, and I’m scared of him, but I’m more scared of you not, uh, feeling safe?” He shook his head, but continued, “I’m here, Rich, gay or not.”

_Gay._

And suddenly, something in Richies’ head clicked. That nasty word got shoved away, and this new one took its place. _Holy fuck_ he really preferred this new one, it wasn’t poison, it didn’t hurt. And Richie nearly fell in love with the way Eddie said it, how genuine it sounded.

“I’m gay.” Richie said to himself, tasting the foreign word on his tongue.

Eddie smiled, and lifted his hand. Richie wished it had stayed there. “And that's okay.”

“It is?” Richie choked out, not believing this outcome, not understanding why Eddie wasn’t reacting badly.

“It is.”

And it was. Richie was gay, but with Eddie, Richie was safe.

**Author's Note:**

> Hhhhhh, this do be my first time posting here! I've been writing fanfiction for a long, long time but never had the guts to post it anywhere. That said, here we are!!
> 
> I would like to make it perfectly clear that I /only/ write in ~angst~, but sometimes you'll get a happy ending! ;) And Richie really fucking deserves that goddamnit.
> 
> Also my girlfriend wrote one thats basically this but Eddies' version with his mom and the leper!! Check it out maybe? She's so talented!!


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